shEppard equals MCscrewed
by T'Pring
Summary: Rodney must keep John alive until help arrives, and learns about his own strengths in the process. Pure plot device for Shep Whump!
1. Chapter 1

"Colonel?"

"…mmmm?"

"Hang in there, OK?"

"OK"

"…Colonel?"

A longer pause this time. "What."

"Help is coming. You're going to be fine."

"Sure."

"…John?"

"McKay."

"What?"

"Knock it off!"

McKay glared as if studying a particularly complex equation. The equation that was John Sheppard seemed to be unraveling before his eyes and Rodney was damned if he was going to let it spiral into infinity. The problem was, he didn't know how to stop it. Or the bleeding. The massive, shirt-soaking, puddle-forming, dirt-sogging bleeding that flowed from Sheppard's upper chest as if a red fountain had suddenly decided to cheerfully imitate human form.

John sat slumped against the rough wall of the abandoned hut they were sheltering in, the sounds of distant gunfire and yelling drifting in through the one pane-less window and door-less door. He was pale and trembling, although McKay would never use that term to his face, with the effort of simply sitting upright. He's going into shock, thought McKay, and bit his tongue to keep himself from querying the man again just to hear him respond, to prove to himself that Sheppard _could_ respond…

Unbidden the equation "_shEppard ≅ MC Screwed_" flashed through Rodney's mind and he almost wished it were that simple. Math was simple. Elegant. People were messy and complicated. And until Atlantis, Rodney had always preferred the company of equations. Now though… even in the midst of a war zone, holding a sopping bandage to the chest of his team's commander and covered in his blood, even now he wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

_OK that's ridiculous_, thought McKay, almost snorting out loud at the internal conversation he was holding with himself seeing as Sheppard refused to participate in one. Of course he wanted to be ANYWHERE else. He just meant that now he could do this, since he had to. Since Ronon had nearly shot him when he'd nagged the prickly man against his better judgment to stay too. Since Sheppard had told him to shut up at least twice before telling him to knock it off. _McKay + Tense situation / Anybody ≅ "Shut up"_ Maybe if he tried to reduce all situations to equations, he'd have a better handle on life.

Rodney grabbed yet another field bandage from his vest pocket and pressed it into Sheppard's seeping wound. Only seeping, he thought with some relief, not gushing in spurts so he didn't think an artery had been compromised. It just wouldn't stop. John only sighed and rolled his head back, eyes closed, to bang it slowly against the wall. Looking at the litter of soaked bandages around him, Rodney was more concerned by Sheppard's lack of reaction to the painful pressure. The first few pads into the shoulder had earned him manly grunts and inventive swearing. This display of pitiful acceptance was more than McKay could bear. Or tolerate.

"Dammit, Colonel. It's my turn to save your life, and you'd better give me the satisfaction of cooperating. I am REALLY going to make you work for your next turn at saving mine. I'll think of something so spectacular, you'll wish I was back to disintegrating solar systems."

John actually smiled, although his eyes remained closed and his voice was faint. "I already saved your life today. I'm taking the rest of the week off." He suddenly grimaced and his whole body went rigid with a wave of unchecked pain and McKay found himself bracing his arm against Sheppard's chest to keep him upright and provide comforting resistance. Once the spasm passed, John relaxed, more limp and pale than before.

Rodney was reminded forcibly of another time he'd had to watch Sheppard fight for his life, that time lying on a jumper floor with a life-sucking wraith-bug attached to his neck. The team was new then, it had practically been their maiden mission. And Rodney had lost it. Had panicked to the point of hyperventilation before Sheppard, even in excruciating pain, had snapped him out of self-absorbed speculation. _Rodney + Sheppard ≅ a better Rodney _

They had all matured since then, the team was now a well-oiled machine each playing their roles well and complimenting each other's skills. Rodney usually let Teyla play the comforter while Ronon and Sheppard acted out the physical parts. McKay was getting quite good at saving their macho butts in the end with his brain and a clever scheme. And Sheppard, the heart of the team, kept them all focused.

But there were no fancy devices or computers or shields or ships on this miserable dustball of a planet so Rodney was left playing Teyla while she ran to the gate for help and Ronon was off, well, still being Ronon but without a leash. _Team – Sheppard ≅ ? _Rodney shuddered at the thought of literally writing the Colonel out of the equation.

As if John had been reading Rodney's mind, he gasped painfully and whispered, "It's bad, McKay…"

Despite his worry, Rodney was a contrarian and could argue both sides of any topic, changing sides on a dime if the situation called for it. Although it was usually his preference to take the pessimistic view, he could play optimist, especially when such an easy gauntlet was thrown down, "No, no, no! A single dart, or whatever they call them on this planet. Came right on out with hardly a tug. Beckett will plug you up with a couple of stitches and you'll be wooing the nurses in no time." Noticing his knees wet with Sheppard's blood, pooled on the ground underneath him, and the saturated uniform on the man, he did add somewhat ruefully, "Although, I think your lucky shirt might need an honorable discharge and sent to the VA for retired clothing."

John just shook his head, "Losing too much blood. And something's not right. I think…I think the dart might have been poisoned." When he opened his eyes to meet Rodney's startled look, a shadow of fear was lurking in their depths.

"Why do you say that?" McKay was intense, gathering information, trusting Sheppard's unsettling guess, but needing every bit of data he could get to pass on to the med-evac team.

"Pain's everywhere, in spasms, not just shoulder. Pulse is too fast. Vision is blurry. Breathing is hard." As if to prove the point, he began to pant in fast shallow gasps and closed his eyes again.

"Those are symptoms of shock." He didn't add the "_mostly" _that was drifting through his mind.

Sheppard shook his head slowly, "Been there. Done that. This is different."

Rodney froze for a long moment. This was so not the situation he was used to. First he was expected to fill in for Teyla. Now he had to make decisions too? _Sheppard + blood loss + poison ≅ HELP!_ Teyla and the Medical Evacuation team were fighting their way through the civil war outside, the Atlanteans trying to just get through without taking sides or get caught in the crossfire. He'd heard nothing since Teyla had first returned through the gate and radioed they were at least on their way.

Deciding the situation warranted risking radio contact, Rodney shifted his hold on the bandage to free one hand and clicked the call button twice through his vest mesh to signal he wished to communicate. He was relieved to hear an answering click and a soft "This is Teyla, go ahead."

"Teyla, where's that medical evac team? The Colonel's not doing so good…" He hated the way his voice cracked in fear at the understatement.

"We are about 10 minutes from your position, Ronon just found us and there is heavy fighting on the main road. We are trying to go around."

"You've got to hurry. Sheppard thinks the dart that hit him was poisoned. You need to be careful yourselves!"

"This is Lt. Greene," a female voice cut into the conversation, "what are the Colonel's symptoms? Why do you say poison?"

Rodney was grateful for the remote expertise at least and was about to eagerly relay Sheppard's comments when Teyla suddenly hissed "We've been spotted, initiate radio silence, out."

"Dammit!" Rodney shouted to the window and the interfering natives by proxy. Sheppard chose that moment to seize again, the panting devolving into agonizing moans as he thrashed against the pain and Rodney's supportive arm again pressed across his chest. Rodney's anger quickly shot into mind-numbing worry and he was considering calling Lt. Greene again despite Teyla's order for radio silence. When the writhing man finally seemed to relax a bit, Rodney found himself watching Sheppard's face closely for signs of consciousness. John finally opened his eyes took in the worried face watching him, then looked over Rodney's shoulder. Eyes widening in sudden fear, John croaked out a raspy "McKay!" and fumbled at his hip for a weapon long gone.

McKay whirled to see no fewer than 5 men sauntering in the door of their hut behind a sturdy, dusty native leader…


	2. Chapter 2

The group of native soldiers looked fresh from the battlefield and supremely confident in their position over the two surprised offworlders. Rodney fumbled for his own 9 mil and finally drew it, although he was sure he looked anything but threatening as he pointed it inexpertly at the intruders while at the same time holding a sagging Sheppard up against the wall. Several of the men raised their own primitive firearms, a couple of the others only rolled their eyes and didn't bother.

His mouth kicking in again, Rodney blurted, "We found this lovely condo first. You'll just have to move on down the street for your own hideout." The lead native squinted his eyes and cocked his head to better study John's prone form. Rodney shifted slightly to block the man's probing view and regain his attention. "We're not alone, you know. We've got lots of friends. Coming. They're on their way. They'll be here any second soooo…"

The man jerked his head at Sheppard, "He's the one who lead the s_tang_ into our ambush?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about. But since I also have no idea who these Stang are nor who you are or…"

"Yes. I'm the one." Sheppard was still panting and trembling with surges of intense agony, but his eyes were fierce as he glared down the intruder. "I was leading a group of natives away from _my_ people to give them time to make the 'gate. I didn't know your ambush was there. I spotted you about a second before you spotted them. Got an arrow in the chest before I could figure out which way to go next. Sorry if I ruined your little surprise." He was almost snarling as he spoke in broken gasps, furious at the circumstances that left him so helpless.

The dusty leader held Sheppard's gaze for a long moment, then nodded. With a subtle signal he ordered his men to lower their weapons. "I believe you. And so we owe you a debt of gratitude. The attack would not have gone nearly as well without your…intervention." He turned to smile in a jocular fashion to his troops who were nodding smugly with arrogant pride.

Rodney was taken aback. Rarely did a group of armed aliens suddenly become friendly admirers and he didn't quite know what to do next. "So… you'll go away now?" was all he could come up with.

"If you want. But we could help with that wound. And there are still a few _stang_ about. We'll escort you to the Ring when you're ready."

_Sheppard + 6 big guys with guns ≅ Allies?_ It was almost too good to be true and Rodney felt the burden of decision on his shoulders. Should he trust these men who offered help with no more information than that they seemed to be at odds with the same people who had speared the Colonel? Should he stall them long enough for Ronon and Teyla to return and fight them off? Again feeling desperately out of his element he looked to Sheppard for guidance only to see him shuddering harder than ever in panting convulsions. Scrambling back to John's side, concern for his colleague's life won out over the skeptical circumstances. Looking to the would-be-ally with a plea in his eyes, he begged, "You said you could help him? Is one of you a medic?"

The man shrugged and handing his own weapon to another soldier he walked over casually to also squat by Sheppard. "The dirty _stang_ use tainted darts. Designed to come apart after impact and leave the tip inside to better deliver the poison. Gotta get the tip out first. Then he'll have a chance to fight off the poison."

"How do you get the tip out?" Rodney was pretty sure he knew how these people did it but…

The man just raised an eyebrow and looked as if he was wondering about Rodney's intelligence. Deciding the answer was best demonstrated, he drew from a scabbard on his belt a long and wicked-thin curved knife. Holding it up in front of his face and twirling it idly, he just looked meaningfully at McKay. After a single beat, Rodney grabbed for his radio and clicked it madly, waiting only a second or two before holding the button down to sputter into the receiver, "Teyla! Where are you! You've got to get here now!" The radio remained dead silent. Apparently, they had turned them off in fear of being revealed.

"Look," Rodney whirled next on the native. "You said you'd help. We have a medical team trying to reach us. Very skilled healers with lots of equipment. They don't know we're ah, friends now, so they're hiding from your people and the Stang. It's slowing them down, and preventing them from reaching us. Can you send some of your men to escort them here safely?"

The Commander nodded once then merely looked at two of his men who immediately turned to leave the hut.

"Wait!" Shouted Rodney, now addressing the messengers. "Our people are armed and will defend themselves. Approach them carefully and tell them that Sheppard and McKay say it's OK for them to follow you."

Sheppard made a sound to draw Rodney's attention and managed to hiss out the word, "Ronon…" McKay thought for a moment, understanding the Colonel's concern.

"Yeah that could be a problem," he muttered back. Turning back to the messengers he added, "Tell the big guy with the big hair, Ronon, that McKay says to trust you and if I'm wrong he can string me upside-down again. He'll understand." Rodney chose to ignore Sheppard's feeble attempt at a snicker. With a last glance at their leader, the two soldiers left at a jog.

McKay turned his attention fully back to Sheppard, fussing for a moment over the shoulder wound and worrying over the way even his shudders seemed weaker.

"We should take the dart out," the native Commander was still crouched beside Sheppard and there was something close to concern on the man's weathered face. "The longer it's in there, the harder it is to fight off the poison after. Poison makes the wound bleed more. This fella looks like he doesn't have a lot more to give."

"'_This fella'_ is Lt. Colonel John Sheppard, who I'm sure outranks you in every sense of the word and I thought we settled this!" Rodney exploded. "Our medics will be here soon. They'll take out the dart in a sterile and properly trained fashion!"

The man just shrugged. "We should take it out now. I've lost men who didn't get it out soon enough. You've had it longer than most who've lived…" Rodney saw that the last was addressed directly to Sheppard, man to man, warrior to warrior, commander to commander. And at that moment, McKay felt himself fully understand the burden Sheppard carried daily. He knew what Sheppard would do; he would take the risk. But ultimately the responsibility was McKay's. Sheppard was injured, desperate. McKay was in the position to best evaluate the risk, and allow or prevent this stranger from digging out the poisoned dart. His decision could mean life or death for John. It was beyond terrifying, and his respect for the man who led his team soared with the insight.

"Do it," John whispered, but his eyes were on Rodney. Waiting to see what McKay would decide.

_Risk ≅ Sheppard + longer exposure to poison but sterile extraction ≥ Sheppard – dart with a knife_

"Ok…" Breathed Rodney. He hoped to God it was the right thing, that his logic and equations wouldn't let him down. But even his gut was telling him the poison was the higher risk, so he fumbled in his pockets while at the same time addressing the native leader, "Ok, get the dart point out. You tell me how to help, but I want you to wipe down that blade with this first," and he handed over the small alcohol wipe he had finally rummaged out.

The man took it as if humoring the nervous McKay, but then seemed impressed with the way the blade gleamed after several swipes down its length with the wipe.

"You've done this before, have you?" McKay was still a bit worried by the man's obvious…lack of sophistication. For reply the man just nodded grimly and shot a glance at the closest of his remaining men who also nodded firmly and patted his thigh.

The man finished wiping down the blade then pushing aside more fabric from John's jacket and shirt, he told Rodney, "You need to hold him so he won't jerk away when I'm in there. The tip of the dart is usually barbed, it'll rip a bit coming back out, but it's for the better once it is."

"I won't move," John whispered between clenched teeth, and Rodney could only sigh at the stubbornness of the man even in such dire circumstances. The would-be medic had the good graces not to respond and merely positioned himself carefully in front of Sheppard, leaning his right hand against the right shoulder and guiding the knife with his left. He instructed Rodney to take hold of Sheppard's left shoulder and chest and they pressed him firmly against the wall as the thin knife point entered the wound, following the dart's path without having to cut any more, at least at first.

The sight of the knife slowly digging deeper into the already ravaged shoulder was almost more than McKay could stand and he had to hastily look away when his stomach lurched uncomfortably. Instead he focused on John's face, watching for signs of distress…not that he could do anything about it if there were. If he had thought Sheppard was pale before, it was nothing compared to now. He was completely rigid, pushing back slightly on the hands holding him, but true to his promise did not move or make a sound.

"You do need to breathe, blue is definitely not your color." Rodney admonished him warily, for the man's tension was so complete he seemed to have frozen. Startled into a chuckle, John did take a gasp or two and his color improved a bit as he tried to include breathing into the ordeal.

"There it is," the native's voice didn't seem enthusiastic, just informative. He knew the hard part was coming so he just shot Rodney a stern look and began to twist the knife so that the wound opened. Blood oozed down John's already sticky chest and he growled with the effort of keeping himself from flinching and pushed a bit harder against the supportive hands. Finally, pulling the curved tip back out just a bit the soldier smiled slightly and reached towards the now gaping wound with his fingers. Pausing for a moment before probing into the bloody flesh, he seemed to think for a second and deftly swiped up the alcohol wipe to pinch between his thumb and forefinger. Then he dove into the wound, grasped the tiny shaft and yanked it out in one sudden thrust. Blood gushed freely.

John cried out and fell sideways into Rodney's arms, choking and writhing with the newest agony. McKay gently lowered his head to the floor and frantically pressed the last field bandage into the now ragged and flowing wound. Sheppard was rocking slowly against the pressure on his shoulder, spasmodically clenching his fists open and closed. "Come on, John," McKay whispered pleadingly, so that no one else would hear. "Give up on the macho routine and just go ahead and pass out. You've impressed our friend enough. I've got everything under control."

Sheppard opened his eyes a crack to watch McKay until he glanced at his face again and their eyes met. Nodding almost sleepily, John relaxed and finally let go. After a panicky moment in which Rodney convinced himself that Sheppard really had only passed out, he sat back in surprise. "Really?" he said to the unconscious form. "You actually do think I've got things under control?" He was suddenly warmed and gratified by the display of trust. Maybe there was more to Rodney McKay than equations and a clever scheme.

It was nearly another 10 minutes before Teyla and the Medics arrived. Rodney had to diffuse the tense moment when the 6 armed Atlanteans burst into the hut to see McKay and the native commander hovering over a clearly unconscious and badly wounded Sheppard. Rapidly babbling phrases like "anti-coagulant" and "hypovolemic shock" the medics soon had the man on oxygen and IV fluids. Liberal amounts of powdered clotting agent were poured into the shoulder wound and it finally stopped bleeding. Sheppard made the trek back to the gate wrapped in thermal blankets and riding on a portable stretcher, still blissfully unaware. McKay jogged along behind with Teyla and Ronon. The three teammates seemed to draw comfort from each other's quiet presence, each having lived through their part in the ordeal of getting the Colonel to safety and feeling somewhat at a loss now that they were no longer needed.

At the Stargate, they waved goodbye to their native escorts with promises to return and discuss trading foodstuffs for alcohol wipes. As McKay stepped into the event horizon with an exhausted sigh and deep relief, he rethought his panicky equation of before. _Sheppard ≅ MC²_. It seemed appropriate to put Sheppard in the place of Energy. Something about the man brought out the best in others in quantities greater than one would expect. He brought out the best in Rodney, leaving Rodney only one thing left to say. _McKay + Home ≅ Content_.

_Author's note: This is the "formal" end to the story, but I got carried away and wrote a lengthy if somewhat pointless epilogue. So continue if you wish, and review if you please! And if you're wondering about the goofy ≅ characters, FanFiction strips out regular "equals" so this was as close as I could find, ha!_


	3. Epilogue

Epilogue:

Three weary teammates and Elizabeth Weir sat in Weir's office for the formal post-mission debriefing. Elizabeth had insisted upon a full report almost immediately upon their return, her obvious concern for Sheppard driving her to demand an account of their actions and experiences.

Rodney got the distinct impression that the urgency had little to do with protocol or a desire to evaluate their performance, and everything to do with the man that lay in the infirmary, under the tender care of Dr. Beckett's well trained staff. McKay understood her motives, he was worried too, Sheppard was far from out of danger. Nonetheless, Rodney had requested at least a half hour to shower and change clothes. Finally taking a good look at his hands and clothes, soaked in Sheppard's blood and mud from the dirt floor of the hut, she had swallowed hard and of course agreed.

Even now as he sat listening restlessly to Teyla's account of guiding the Medical team through the native combat zone, meeting Ronon, eventually meeting the native messengers that Rodney sent after them, Rodney didn't feel entirely clean, wet though he still was from his long soak in the showers. He wasn't sure he'd ever wash out the feeling of sticky blood and clothing stiff from dried mud.

Ronon backed the story up to when they had been confronted by the people McKay thought of as the Stang and Sheppard had ordered them to the gate, going off on his own to lead the aggressive natives away. It had worked until they'd heard the Colonel call in a "man down" and things had gone haywire from there. Ronon and Rodney had returned to find Sheppard, Teyla had continued to the gate to bring in the med-evac team. Somehow, Sheppard had made his way to the abandoned hut which is where Ronon and Rodney found him, already soaked in his own blood and clearly unable to travel with or without help. Ronon had left shortly thereafter to guide Teyla to the place and then it was Rodney's turn to recount his part of the story.

He found it difficult to tell. His mind was still off in the infirmary with Sheppard, hoping that he'd made the right call in asking the native soldier to cut out the poison dart. Aldin was his name they'd learned on the trek back to the gate.

Elizabeth was watching McKay closely and aside from a twitch of anger every time he mentioned the Stang, she remained sympathetically absorbed in his account. When he finally finished reliving the grueling hour, the doubt clear in his shaky voice and brusque delivery, she leaned towards him and said in a soft, confident tone, "You did good, Rodney. You all did. You got him home."

When McKay just shook off the reassurance she added, "You can go to the infirmary now. I'm sure you all want to check in on John."

With undignified haste, they all, Elizabeth included, found their way to Beckett's domain, pausing inside the doors once they were there as if fearful of intruding on a private or personal moment. Beckett however, spotted them at once and strode over cheerfully.

"I've been expectin' yeh. The Colonel's doing well considering the amount of blood he lost. We're pumping it back in him as fast as is advisable, but so far he's tolerating the transfusions and fluids. We're managing the shock as best we can. The toxins from the poison dart still in his system are a bit worrisome, but the lab thinks it's similar to an Earth-type tropane alkaloid and we've administered Physostigmine and good old morphine to counteract the effects we're aware of."

The blank looks and furtive glances deeper into the infirmary were not unnoticed by Beckett who smiled again, well used to being tuned out by worried visitors, and gestured towards a secluded nook busy with nurses in attendance. Shuffling quietly with the caution all cultures seemed to assume in hospital, the group gathered around Sheppard's bed. Elizabeth stepped confidently to his side at once and took the hand that lay on top of the thick blankets that otherwise covered him from toe to chin.

Rodney was surprised by how much Sheppard looked like he had on the hut's dirty floor. Pale, sweaty, his hands still tacky from his own dried blood, tubes of all sorts taped to his arms and chest snaking from hanging bags of various fluids and medicines. He had expected, hoped even, that he'd seem much better, that he'd be sitting up waiting for them to be harassed and demanding he be released at once.

Before the disappointment could overwhelm him though, Beckett tugged him gently aside and seemed urgent in his desire to speak. "Rodney, I've had the lab look at that dart you brought back, the one that lad pulled out of the Colonel's shoulder." Rodney nodded, eyes locked on Sheppard's still form. Beckett tugged a bit more to get his attention and went on, "It's a right nasty piece of work, all right. The poison is actually encapsulated within the dart's tip and begins to dissolve once exposed to the tissue it's embedded in. That means the symptoms are cumulative and once the interior of the capsule is exposed, a lethal dose is suddenly administered."

Rodney pulled his gaze away from Sheppard to suddenly stare at Beckett, "You did the right thing getting it out," Beckett said firmly. "Another few minutes and the dart that struck the Colonel would have dissolved into a lethal dose." The doctor squeezed Rodney's arm reassuringly and stepped back to the bed to check instruments once again, then stepped away to allow the visitors some time alone with their commander and friend. Rodney felt himself relax, then even grin. He'd made the right call. However it turned out now was up to Sheppard and knowing the resilience of the man, Rodney was nothing but optimistic.

Several hours later, Sheppard's team sat in quiet comfortable vigil around his bed, the lights dimmed in nighttime restfulness. A nurse would come by every so often to check vitals, whisper a reassuring, "He's doing fine…" and wander away again.

Just as Rodney was about to fall completely asleep in his chair and was considering going to bed as much as he hated to leave, John jerked and his eyes fluttered open. Passing happy glances and warm smiles, the three rose to gather closer. John lay for a long while, eyes open but unseeing, as he worked his way to consciousness. Finally, the Colonel groaned and raised his free hand to his face to scrub out sandy eyes and press against an aching temple. Looking stupidly at the ceiling he croaked to himself, "Where'd I park my helicopter?"

Chuckling, Teyla answered soothingly, "You're in the infirmary on Atlantis, John. You were injured, but you will be fine." Sheppard flopped his head towards her voice with a bemused smile, and Rodney added with a snort, "Oh, they've got you on the good stuff Colonel."

"Good stuff," he agreed still smiling.

McKay lingered for a while longer after Teyla and Ronon left. The nurses and eventually Dr. Beckett came by to check out their patient's progress with more thorough medical torture techniques. Before the endless pokes and prods were complete, Sheppard's goofy smile had faded into a painful frown, bordering on the jaw-clenched grimace Rodney had seen too much that day. Possibly no one else noticed, but McKay had seen enough of it to last him a lifetime and he grabbed at Beckett who was just passing by, "Can't you do something for the pain?"

Beckett raised his eyebrows and stopped long enough to study Sheppard's tense brow closely. Stepping quickly to the man's side he said, "Are you in pain son?"

Sheppard seemed to have to think about it for a minute before answering, "Um, yeah. Hurts a bit." Rodney and Beckett sighed with identical expressions of exasperation and Beckett queried further, "Where does it hurt?"

"Shoulder. Head. Pretty much everywhere…"

"Alright. We'll risk some more morphine tonight, at least we know that hasn't interacted with the poison adversely." He bustled off to the pharmacy leaving Rodney to tut tut over his stubborn friend.

"You've really got to stop depending on me to bail you out of the macho overcompensation thing. Next time, you ask for the good stuff yourself or I'll just sit here and watch you suffer."

"No you won't," Sheppard retorted.

"Probably not. But it is a risk you're willing to take?"

"Probably not." Sheppard smiled. "Besides, you've got everything under control. I can risk a trip to drug-induced lala land…"

"Damn right I've got it under control. So under control in fact, I'm going to bed. Behave yourself Sheppard."

"Good Night. And Thanks…" John closed his eyes, but Rodney didn't actually leave until he saw Beckett administer the drug and that Sheppard had drifted into restful sleep.


End file.
